Woman of Interest 8: LifeChange
by Lacadiva
Summary: Recovering Joss Carter is having a hard time healing from her near-fatal wounds and giving up her son for his own safety. She can't get the answers from Harold and John, so she goes to the source…The Machine


WOMAN OF INTEREST 8: LIFE/CHANGE

By

Lacadiva

Disclaimer: It ain't about me. All rights belong to Mr. Abrams, Mr. Nolan, Kilter Films, Mr. Bad Robot and CBS. I'm just playing.

_Summary: AU, obviously: Recovering Joss Carter is having a hard time healing from her near-fatal wounds, conforming to her new life, accepting John as her only confidant, and giving up her son for his own safety. She can't get the answers to the deeper questions from Harold and John, so she goes to the source…The Machine. Will it deny…or comply?_

_~POI~_

Harold stared sadly at the cold, untouched food on the tray. The soup had begun to congeal – proof that it was not as "natural" as the can's label professed. The toast – whole grain, lightly buttered, cut into perfect triangles – was starting to curl at the edges.

He tried to talk her into eating several times over the last few days. At this point, he surmised, there was no further use in trying to convince her with words to fight to stay a live.

It was time to fight dirty.

For a moment, Carter had seemed to be doing better. The wounds, though slow to heal at first, had begun the process of muscle and flesh knitting itself back together. Her strength was struggling to return. The ashen look of her face was starting to leave her, and her natural beauty was being restored. As soon as Joss could sit up without assistance, however, that was when the emotional scars began to show.

He could only sit idly by and watch while John took the brunt of her anger and depression. Harold cringed, shuttered, as he tried not to listen while John patiently try to hold her as she sobbed and beat against Reese's own healing body with angry but impotent fists; pushed him away; cursed him and everyone else for saving her from death and making her suffer a fate worse than death – being separated from her son. John would clutch her for dear life, rock her, hold her hand or just sit closely by while Joss cried endlessly.

"_Just let me die…please just let me die…I need my boy…I need to see my son. Why are you keeping him from me? Why are you doing this to me, John?"_

John explained it to her as gently but firmly as he could. Harold had tried to explain it, too. No matter what they said or how they said it, the harsh reality was eating away at Carter, and nothing but an open door and an invitation to leave would assuage her broken heart.

Even John was beginning to falter. "You cannot tear a mother from her child and expect her to just move on," he said to Harold more than once since the ordeal had begun.

"And yet," Finch would say, "that is exactly what Joss must do, if her son is to live. You know this is the only way, Mr. Reese. She can never see her son again, not if she wants to keep him alive and well. We both know…HR is still out there."

They may have scattered, gone underground, and appeared to be a non-threat, but Harold knew better, and so did John and Fusco. At the very hint of Joss Carter's existence, Taylor would be their first target. They would use the teen to flush her out, make her careless, reveal herself. And the entire Carter family would be wiped out.

So long as Taylor remained in his father's care, both of them sadly believing that Joss was dead, the safer their world would remain.

But Joss wasn't having any of that.

She lay now refusing to eat or speak, not out of some childish, churlish attempt to have her own way or force their hand. Harold knew better.

She was simply losing the will to live.

The overwhelming sadness was affecting everyone. Even Sameen and Root had become quiet, routine banter lost between them. But mostly, it was John who shouldered the brunt of the suffering. His face seemed set in a perpetual scowl. He moped about, or sat near Joss's bed while she slept fitfully, his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands as if in some form of prayer or repose, no doubt feeling the sting of his inability to bring Carter to her senses. Neither love nor respect were enough. He begged for cases, numbers, errands, anything to keep him focused and moving, in spite of his own need to rest and heal.

Harold knew a line had been crossed, where Reese's feelings were concerned. He had warned Reese about it on many occasions. Now, there was no point. Love had exploded like a firework, and now too soon lay dying before truly revealing it's bright hot light.

But still warm, as if waiting for a tiny spark to reignite it.

Joss was losing weight rapidly. Dark circles weighted under her soft brown eyes, making her look haunted. Her smile seemed lost forever. She demanded pictures of her son, but they had none to give her. She demanded a cell phone, hoping to call, promising to say nothing, begging to simply hear her son's voice, even if only on a voice mail.

She did not take Harold's denial well.

When she couldn't persuade Harold, she'd beg John. Hands on his cheek, luring him as if to kiss, then hitting him with her pleas…

"_Can't you see what this separation is doing to me? I need to see my boy, John. If you really love me, you'll help me…"_

How John had the strength to pull her clinging hands from his face and walk away, hearing to the barrage of curses, accusations and threats without breaking down, Harold would never know. But he watched John, and saw the darkness and despair growing in his eyes, darkening day by day. Soon he would succumb to it, Harold feared.

Something had to be done.

After days of agony, Carter was beginning to weaken again. Her refusal to eat or do anything but lie staring at the ceiling was the new beginning of the end of her. And there was little Harold could do to change her mind.

He had to do something this once self-reliant woman would respond to with action. Perhaps it was time to trigger the memory of what she used to be, and give her some space to figure it out.

Finch realized this was a crapshoot. It could work against him – she could bring some harm to herself. Or, she could gather what little strength she had in her and leave, opening herself up to discovery and possible destruction.

Or she could figure out that she needed to fight to be herself again.

He stepped quietly toward her bed.

"Joss…"

No response, not even a blink.

"I have a bit of a dilemma. I apologize, but I need to step out for about an hour. It's a bit of an emergency. A number…yes. Mr. Reese is out on a mission. So are Shaw and Root. Detective Fusco was going to come and sit with you for an hour or so, but…duty called. I wonder, would you be all right if you were left alone briefly? I realize you've not been left alone since…I don't want to leave you but I must do what I…"

"Go."

Harold was quickly silenced by the harshness of her tone. And by the fact that she had actually spoken. He continued, feeling more confident that his strategy might work.

"You'll stay put? That is, you'll stay in bed, rest? Not get up and move around while no one's here? It would be a tragedy if you fell and couldn't get yourself off the cold floor…"

"Go."

Again, Harold felt more than heard her word. Like ice to the skin.

"Bear will be here. There is little he can offer except company, but… If you do need anything, simply press the thumb switch by the bed. It will automatically send me a text, letting me know you're in distress. I'll be only minutes away."

Not another word from her. But he did notice a subtle shift of her eyes, almost a twinkle. It was as if an old switch had suddenly been engaged, and Joss Carter was rebooting.

"I will see you shortly," he said, turning and heading out.

Joss lay perfectly still until she was certain she was alone. Though weak, she threw the covers off and lifted her thinning legs over the side of the bed.

Exhausting. She should have known to keep moving, keep her muscles from losing strength.

She pushed herself off the side of the bed and let her feet touch the cold floor. A shiver ran through her as she brought all her weigh to bear and stood still for a moment. The room swam, just as she imagined it would.

She wandered about weakly, and started when Bear suddenly leaped from his doggie bed to his paws and stared at her with questioning eyes.

"What are you looking at?"

Bear didn't back down.

Joss look around until she found the door, the way out. She reached for it.

Bear began barking in agitation.

"Hush!" she demanded. As long as her hand remained upon the door, Bear barked. She moved her hand away, and the dog became silent.

"Did they train you to do that?" she asked, irritated, her ears ringing. "Wouldn't surprise me…"

She reached for the door again. The barking dog wasn't the only thing she noticed this time. The door was unlocked.

Now what would make Finch be so careless? Would he really forget to secure the door before leaving? Find some way to bar the door from the outside to keep her from leaving? Or was he sending her a message?

Joss looked down at herself: long bare legs, bare feet, and one of John's XXL camo-tanks covering layers of bandages taped over her entire chest. Not the best to way to keep under the radar on the streets of Manhattan,

"Hm…I'm not going anywhere like this," said to herself, and moved away from the door.

The outfit she wore the night…_that night_…was undoubtedly so badly bloodied that Finch destroyed every thread. Maybe she could find one of his suits hanging by a bookshelf, or something of John's.

"Bear…where do your daddies keep their stuff around here?"

And then she noticed…

Did Finch know he had left his darling computer on, and out in the open? He was usually quite proprietary about the machine. He sat hovering over it as if he was its protector, its guardian…its parent. And when he needed to leave, he was always certain to turn off the monitors, at the very least. She watched him, could easily see from her bed from the moment she had come around after long days of unconsciousness. What else was there to do for entertainment but watch Finch and pick up on all his peculiar ticks and habits?

It beat agonizing over her son.

But the computer was on and functioning, as if Harold had left the key in a car with the motor running; catnip to the curious. Was this his intention?

~POI~

Harold sat with an untouched cup of Sencha tea in front of him at the Lyric café, gnawing mindlessly upon the tip of a thumb. Had he done the right thing leaving Joss like that? He looked at his watch. He'd give her fifteen more minutes, and then he'd walk back. That might give her enough time to –

"Finch!"

Harold looked up to find John standing over him, his hair and overcoat glistening from cold fallen rain.

"John! You startled me. Sit down and have a hot cup of something, why don't you? You look positively chilled to the bone."

"Finch," he spat in a desperate, angry whisper, "why aren't you with her?"

"I had to check something out. Please, sit down, John."

"You left her alone?"

"I didn't have much choice. Everyone's in the field."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"If you have a seat, Mr. Reese, I'd be happy to explain…"

"Later. I'm going back to check on her."

"I'd prefer you didn't."

"Finch, if you don't tell me what's going on…"

"Please," said Harold, gesturing toward the other chair at the table.

John sat, never taking his eyes off of Finch.

"Is she all right? Did something happen?"

"She was fine when I left. No…she wasn't fine. She was sullen, grieving, refusing to communicate, still refusing to eat. I feared she would succumb to her injuries soon if something wasn't done…"

"What did you do, Finch?"

"She's a bit of a force, our former detective, isn't she? Rather like you…"

"You've got ten seconds, Harold…one…two…three…"

"Just like you, she prefers life on her own terms. I couldn't comply, nor could I give her the answers she sought. About her son, about her new life. Being a good detective, I thought she should find her own answers…"

"…eight…nine…"

"From the machine."

"What exactly is she supposed to find out?"

"Truthfully, I have no idea. The answers may satisfy her, or send her running. I cannot predict. All I know is that we were losing her. And it was killing you. It was merely a ploy, John. A move on a chess board. A gamble. A hope. She'll get answers. And if she's still there when we return, then we will have won this round. If not, then we lose her, if not one way, then another."

"What if she leaves?"

"We'll find her. Or we won't. Coffee?"

~POI~

Joss sat slowly and stiffly before the screen and stared it down for a moment. Then:

"Can you see me? I'm betting you can…"

Nothing. The machine continued with whatever task to which Finch had set it.

"I know you can hear me, and I bet you know who I am. Talk to me, you bucket of bolts. Talk to me like you talk to Finch. I've seen you talk to John while I pretend to sleep. Hell, you talk to that squirrelly Root all the dang time. She thinks you're some kinda god. But I know better.

"Talk to me. Tell me why it's got to be this way. Harold and John say I'd be putting my son's life in danger. That HR is still out there. Is it true? _Is it true_?"

A dialogue box appeared upon the screen. It began running code.

Was this in response to her question?

She looked at her hands. They were trembling. She wrung her fingers to quell the sensation and felt a chill run through her.

"HR is dead. I cut off the head of the beast. How can it still be alive?"

"Look," she said, not knowing if her words were reaching some weird cyber intelligent part of this machine or if she was just crazy-acting.

"I spent my life doing what I believed in, doing what was right. Is this my payoff? Is this what I get, my reward for being one of the good guys? I don't buy it. I refuse.

"Finch is in control, but you think you're the real boss of this operation, don't you you? I'm here to tell you…that's not how it works. Finch _made_ you. He programmed you. You serve him. You serve _us_. You may spit out all those numbers, but those numbers are people. Just like me. You know when people are in danger, and when they're going to die. You do that so we can protect them.

"Well, my son needs protecting now. I need protecting. So tell me, is my son really and truly safer with me out of the picture and living in the shadows?"

She waited, not really expecting a verbal response, but wishing it were possible. Hoping for something tangible.

Something to stop her nightmares.

Joss took a deep breath and felt her exhaustion threatening to overtake her.

"I asked you a question. I need data. Give me data. Talk to me or I will dismantle you and sell you for parts. I want to see my son. I know you know where he is. Show me where he is. SHOW ME!"

Nothing.

"To hell with you then."

Carter moved to rise, but could not. Her body felt like lead, her wounds ached. There was not much strength in her legs, even less in her arms. She took as deep a breath as she could and grasped an arm of the chair, supporting her chest as she stood. As she was about to push herself to her feet, the printer suddenly spat into action.

The sound of it startled her so that she audibly gasped.

And she was not expecting the machine to spit out a picture of Taylor.

Carter's strength for the moment returned. She rose and snatched the printout from the shallow tray.

The sound she made could have been a laugh of joy, or a sob of anguish. Tears spilled involuntarily down her cheek, and the page in her trembling hand shook.

"Tay…" she said, barely able to say her son's name.

"Taylor…"

The machine had graciously provided a time stamp. When Joss read it, her tears increased until her cheeks glistened.

"This was taken less than an hour ago. You're watching him. Aren't you? You're keeping an eye on him…"

Silence from the machine.

"Is the danger real? If I walked out of here…what could happen to him? To me?"

One of the monitors went dark for a beat. Then a green voice meter appeared. Following that, a voice that made Joss shudder.

"_Politicians come and go. But we're here forever."_

Alonso Quinn.

Joss looked at the photo of Taylor again.

A beat, and the printer spat to life again. This time, the picture in the tray was of three men – two white, one black. They were in civvies, walking the boardwalk, Coney Island. Enjoying Nathan's hotdogs and cold beers.

She recognized them. Former cops. HR.

"Tell me where these three jokers are and I'll take them down myself."

The machine was silent again. Joss was not going to have her way.

"I can protect my own son! I don't need you to do it for me! I'm sick of sacrificing everything. You've taken everything from me! My job, my career, my future. Hell, you nearly took my life! You can't have my son! Let somebody else sacrifice everything!"

The printer kick to life again. A grainy photo of John sitting at a small round table with a beautiful woman sat in the tray. Joss would not touch it. She'd seen the photo before.

"Jessica," she said, a hitch in her voice. She remembered now, how John had lost the woman he once loved so dearly. He couldn't be there for her. The job had become everything. He sacrificed his life for his country and still he and lost her. How does a man keep sacrificing after losing everything?

Another page shot out into the tray. A redacted obituary. Names had been blacked out. Had the page been scanned into the machine's memory like that? Or had the machine redacted it itself?

The photo in the obituary was a younger version Finch. The name was missing. According to the article, Harold, along with dozens more, had died in a terrorist bombing.

That can't be, thought Joss. Unless…

"Finch has to be dead to stay alive…"

Another page. A photocopy enlargement of a hospital I.D. Sameen Shaw. A doctor. Didn't doctors respect life, revere it? Shaw was always itching to shoot someone. Reasons never mattered. So she had given up a prestigious career for one that turned her into a killer to protect our country's inalienable rights. She lost some of her own humanity, so others might live.

"I get it, bucket of bolts. You can stop with the slide show. You're telling me I'm not the only one who had to give up something or someone important."

She slid the pages into the conveniently placed shredder by the desk. All but Taylor's.

"You win," she said, looking into the center monitor. "I'll do the shadow thang. I'll keep away from my boy. But you listen to me…I'm gonna want to see him eventually. I won't make contact, I promise. I swear. Just, if you could arrange something. Maybe I could see him coming home from school. Get a look at his social networking page. Maybe seem him at graduation. If that's not possible, if all your numbers and codes and programming says that I can never see his face again, I need you to tell me now."

Joss waited for the machine to make a sound, run code, show a video feed. Anything. But there was nothing.

"Okay," she said, smiling, still crying. "Okay. I'll take that as a sign that it's not impossible. How long will I have to wait? A year? Five years? Ten? How long?"

Again, there was nothing.

"Okay, bucket of bolts, you go on a play it cagey. But I'm gonna hold you to this. Maybe, every now and then, you can shoot me a picture of him. At school, at an ATM, or on the subway."

The monitor blinked to life, showing surveillance footage of a crowd of back pack, book carrying school kids waiting to cross a street. Joss moved close to the screen, checking the face of every teen…hoping…

Taylor stepped off the curb and walked with the crowd, heading to school.

"My boy! My baby…"

She watched, touching the screen until Taylor walked out of the frame and the feed was cut.

"No! Not yet! Please! Just a little bit more," she pleaded. But the monitor remained blank.

"Okay," she said, calming herself, wiping her tears away. "Okay. Another time, okay?"

Silence from the machine.

Joss held the picture of her son to her chest as she stood, moving slowly back in the direction of her bed. She stopped, looking over her shoulder, back at the machine.

"Yo…bucket of bolts…thanks."

~POI~

"You got anymore of that soup, Finch?"

Harold was more than happy to comply, and left heading for the microwave, giving John and Joss a few precious minutes alone.

"You look good," said John, smiling for the first time in days.

Joss returned it.

"I bet you say that to all the girls who get shot by crooked cops and fake their death."

"No. Just the pretty ones."

Joss giggle now.

"Finch's machine is really something, huh?"

John merely nodded.

"I'm sorry I gave you two such a hard time."

John moved to sit next to her at the edge of the bed.

"We're just glad you're better."

She reached out and touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm glad you're okay, too, John. I couldn't have made it through any of this without you."

"You would have found a way, Joss."

"No. Losing Taylor…as horrible as that is, at least I knew he was alive somewhere. If you had died that night…I don't…"

"Enough," he said, and held a piece of toast to her lips. "Eat."

She took a small bite and chewed, never taking her eyes from his.

"The machine said they're still out there. We have to go after them. The remnants of HR."

"We will."

"Even if we have to put every one of them in the ground."

"That's the plan."

"Promise me, John. We won't stop until we've killed the beast. That's the only way I can see my son again. Promise me."

"I promise," he said, and rose from the bed.

Joss caught him by the arm. Her strength was returning.

"Hey…"

He turned back to her.

"That's not the only thing I want from you, John Reese."

He fought to keep a straight face, but the sudden redness of his cheeks was a dead giveaway.

"Get some rest," he said, leaning down to kiss the top of her forehead.

~END~

Thank you for reading! Please, kindly review, if this story moved you in anyway.


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